A year ago today around 10 a.m. The Narrator and I walked into the hospital, signed in, and sat in the waiting room watching the television. We chit chatted. Not the normal conversation you’d expect from someone about to have a baby in a couple hours. I leaned back and rested my arms on my gigantic belly still wondering boy or girl? We both nodded. Boy. Somehow we just intuitively knew boy from the beginning. The Narrator looked at me and asked how in the world I could be so calm. My response was probably too matter of fact. If my choice is to either keep the baby inside me or be cut open to get him or her out, then please, cut me open. I was a re-peat c-section. After the drama and trauma of Little Miss Sunshine’s birth, I was just fine to be a scheduled c-section.
They called my name and the fun began. Nurses and aides laughed and joked with me as they started my IVs.Â One anesthesiologist aide cracked food jokes since I had made a comment about being hungry. If I hadn’t known he’d be wielding a very large needle in a matter of minutes, I probably would have clocked him and blamed it on the pregnancy hormones.
Finally I was laying on the table under the bright lights, numb as could be, waiting for The Narrator to show. Before his arrival I had my first wave of nausea. The nurse by my head was so helpful. At the first mention of the nausea she gave me something via IV to stop it, and I felt gooood. It was the last time I’d feel gooood all day.
Everyone was so calm compared to my first c-section which was an emergency. The staff had all taken their guess and agreed with us on a boy. Just as they were ready to pull the baby out the nurse urged The Narrator to stand up and peek. He said all he had to see was the head and shoulders and knew he had a boy. Our square little man entered the world and yelled to let us know he was here. “Made it, Mom! Breathing just fine!!”
I held him while they stitched me back up and he was just perfect. Just perfect. All boy, all snuggles and I couldn’t have been happier. It only went downhill from there. It was four hours before I saw him again. This hospital was set up at the time so that c-section moms went to general recovery. Babies went to the nursery and I didn’t see him again until I got into my room. I mentally willed my legs to move, even the slightest motion to let the nurses know everything was working and I’d be ok. Didn’t matter. They had to wait for a room to open. Then they needed my spot and I laid in a hallway for a good 30 minutes waiting for a transport. If I hadn’t been so drugged I definitely would have been mad.
Finally, they moved me. Then I wished they hadn’t. I was fine until the elevator ride and I just KNEW I was going to throw up. I mustered all the will power in the world to hold it in, hold it in. The doors flung open and there we were right at the nursery, and a crowd of people staring at us, including my family, and all I could think was “don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up.” My last c-section had been epidural. This one was a spinal anesthesia. Whole new ball game. I tried to tell my family that I didn’t feel good, but I couldn’t even speak. I just threw the sheet over my head and willed it all to go away, go away. I heard the transport lady nicely tell my family that I didn’t feel good. Then I was in the safety of my room. If only they would have stopped moving me I would have been ok!
Finally in my room, in my new bed, hooked up to God knows what, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I reached the point where I figured I’d just feel better if I let it all out. Good thing I hadn’t eaten in 24 hours. My sweet sister-in-law held the bucket and washcloth. What a gem. Every time I moved for the next however many hours, same scene, until one sweet firm nurse told me I had to get all the way up and out of bed for it to stop. Tough love. But she was right.
He was worth it. My little T-Rex. Truck. Tank. Tooth. All boy. He went all too quickly from cuddly infant needing me for everything to a running, jumping, dancing, climbing, babbling, self-feeding, adorable BOY. He seems so much older than one, which I am sure has everything to do with the two haircuts and walking at nine months. He’s been more cuddly than normal the past couple days. I pretend it’s because he knew he was hitting a milestone marking the end of his babyhood. In reality it was probably just because he had the sniffles. He’s my boy. I love him so much.